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For the bright Queen of St Louis, The star of court and hall!— But the deep strength of the gentle heart, Wakes to the tempest's call! Her Lord was in the Paynim's hold, His soul with grief oppress'd, Yet calmly lay the Desolate, With her young babe on her breast!

There were voices in the city, Voices of wrath and fear— "The walls grow weak, the strife is vain,   We will not perish here! Yield! yield! and let the crescent gleam    O'er tower and bastion high! Our distant homes are beautiful—    We stay not here to die!"

They bore those fearful tidings To the sad Queen where she lay—